


The Storm Before the Calm

by AlwaysJohn



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A moment of angst, Just a moment in the timeline, M/M, Minor hand injury, Sally Donovan mentioned - Freeform, no particular setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:21:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25492276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysJohn/pseuds/AlwaysJohn
Summary: Sherlock spouts off, so what else is new?
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson
Comments: 11
Kudos: 15





	The Storm Before the Calm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [notjustmom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/gifts).



> For my lovely friend on your birthday. Wishing you a day of calm. (((hug)))

*

One moment it was deathly quiet. In the next all hell broke loose. And as what was usually the case, Sherlock was at the center of it all, showing off with one of his soliloquies until gunfire and shouting drove him into the first small bolt hole he found as shrapnel ricocheted around him. 

“John? Alright?”

The realisation that John had not followed washed over him like a bone-deep chill followed by sheer panic.

As suddenly as the chaos erupted, silence shrouded the area. Then, one by one, cautious voices calling “clear” and scattered, hurried footsteps slowly echoed in the cavernous warehouse. 

“Everyone all right?”

“We’re bloody good. Can’t say the same for the others,” sounded an unfamiliar voice.

As Sherlock manoeuvred himself out of his safe place and hurried toward Lestrade, he listened for John’s all clear.

“Where is he?”

“I thought you were together.”

“John?” Sherlock couldn’t control the wobble in his voice as he called out. Excruciating several seconds later... 

“Here, Sherlock,” John’s voice came from the shadows behind him. 

Sherlock turned, immediately looking for injuries even as he allowed himself to breathe again. Finding nothing obvious, he hoped his voice would not betray him when he finally found the words.

“All right, John?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine. Together, Sherlock. Always together, we promised.”

The glare in the stormy blue eyes was not lost on him.

John’s fingers circled around his wrist. “You’re bleeding.”

Sherlock stared at the red smear across his palm. “It’s nothing. I must have cut myself on something when I..”

“Shut it, Sherlock.”

There was no arguing with John when he donned his Captain-Doctor persona. Sherlock simply sighed but pointedly didn’t roll his eyes. That would be a bit not good. 

Lestrade failed to hide his grin. “Come on, my car’s just outside. Donovan’s got this under control.”

“Thanks, Greg,” 

“Here, John, use this,” Greg offered, handing him a pocket square. “It’s clean. A gift. Never use them. Don’t know how it got in my pocket.”

John accepted it, pressing it into the palm of Sherlock’s left hand and folding those long elegant fingers inward. “Just hold it, no pressure in case something is still in there.”

“Yes, John.” 

“So, no A&E?”

“Not this time, Greg. I think I can handle a couple of stitches at home.” 

Sherlock studied his best friend. There was something off and he had a sinking feeling he’d hear all about it when they got home.

**

“Kitchen.”

“John.”

“Now.”

The grim line of John’s mouth was to be ignored at his peril. Sherlock toed out of his shoes, wordless, tossed his coat on the sofa and padded to the kitchen, dropping into the chair nearest the sink.

John swept into the kitchen, the first aid kit in one hand and his medical bag in the other. 

So, stitches were indicated, Sherlock surmised.

The tenderness with which John examined, cleaned and anaesthetised his palm, and the steady hand that applied the three small stitches was not lost on Sherlock even though not once did John make eye contact, nor did he say a single word.

John’s capable hands trembled as he wrapped a protective layer of gauze around his wounded hand. Sherlock recognised at once the release of adrenaline.

John stood suddenly, came round to face him, dropped to the floor to lay his head on Sherlock’s thighs and wrapped his arms around his knees.

Sherlock rested his good hand on John’s crown and for a long time they remained that way.

John raised his head to look at him, eyes red-rimmed, his mouth a small, sad tremble. A single tear escaped; Sherlock pressed a fingertip to it. 

“Together or not at all, John.”

“Always.”

“Yes, always.”

*


End file.
